


Breaking Point

by Davechicken



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: BDSM, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, M/M, Psychological Trauma, Sexual Slavery, Slavery, Torture, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:24:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7239058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Davechicken/pseuds/Davechicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hux has one last thing to win.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breaking Point

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stiletto Ren (Stiletto929)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stiletto929/gifts).



> Please take heed of the warnings and note this is a) unhealthy b) UNHEALTHY and c) not nice.

Coups d’état require extensive work. They need the guiding hand to see every piece on the chessboard, as well as compute every possible move. When you’re talking pan-galactic domination, the chessboard is so broad as to beggar most people’s beliefs. Which, he has to admit, is why he’s expertly suited to them and the unwashed masses are _not_. Not everyone can be a strategist of the highest calibre, after all.

The number of pieces (mostly Pawns, some Castles, the occasional Bishop) is astronomically high, and the opposing side would rather you were playing _Battleships_ , because then they could hide their fleet and throw more things chance’s way.

Hux does not believe in playing _Battleships_. He made a point of finding out the most information about both sides (Order **and** Resistance) and as such, he traversed the whole arena. He swept everything before him into his jetstream wake, and his name was anathema to his enemies; wormwood, _bane_.

Not that he’d been a Pawn that was made Queen, no: he isn’t even represented on the board. He is the _hand_ that moved the pieces, and the hand that stabbed the previous incumbent neatly between vertebrae C1 and C2, usurping his position and then painting every piece in his own shade of success.

This is what victory looks like.

This.

He takes a moment to appreciate it, now the newly-blooded Imperial Guard stand guard back outside the door. His smile is sanguine when he looks at the Knight - how _fitting_ \- in chains before him.

The _Master_ of the Knights of Ren had not taken kindly to his realignment of workstreams. As in: the change in hierarchy that meant _he_ was it. Hux didn’t know what the Leader had done to earn such dogged, small-minded loyalty from a man once traitor already, but he’d got it. Could be that dull _Force_ nonsense, or could just be the captor-bonding of a slave to his better. He’d find out, soon enough.

“If you’re going to kill me, you could at least make it quick.”  


Hux stares at the man - belligerent to the last - who is clamped in heavy irons around neck and hands. Those metal bands repress all of his Force-sensitivity (Hux knows, he wore similar to hide his plans at the key moments) and without his magic tricks, or his laser sword, Kylo Ren is nothing more than a big, bruising beast of burden. Physically strong, but when has that ever really mattered?

“Are you so ready to die?”  


“I won’t follow _you_.”  


“I didn’t expect you to.” He didn’t, really. Ren would cut off his own foot to spite you, if you complimented his boots, or his footwork when sparring. “I expect you to _submit_.”  


Kylo runs forwards, then, and only the length of chain hanging from his collar and through his manacles to the floor keeps him from reaching the Emperor. It is, of course, _planned_.

“I’m going to **kill you**.”  


“Oh? Please: try your hardest, _Lord Ren_.” Hux flashes white incisors and canines in a feline greeting. “But if you feel like this, perhaps you need some time to reconsider.”  


“I will _slaughter you where you stand, Hux, don’t think I–”_  


A button on the throne, and the door opens. Masked, red-robed guards approach. Kylo fights them, kicking and screaming his way out of earshot.

He’ll warm, in time.

***

A month in solitary is hard on any man, Hux knows. Not _personally_ , but anecdotally. He’s read up on the topic, as it’s something he needs to know.

A month, in a room too low to stand in, too small to lie fully down in. Dark, silent, cut only with the addition and removal of food and waste. No conversation, though Hux has people monitor the caged Knight. His mask removed, given to the Emperor as a trophy of his success.

To begin with, Kylo had thrown his food and refused to eat. When the trays were removed by a droid armed with a zapping tool and he was hosed down and left in his cold, wet clothing as punishment, he’d started eating.

For a while. He’s stopped, again. Not throwing the trays in a temper, but letting them sit. Not stirring when the droid wheeled in to remove them. Only the rise and fall of his side, or the heat signatures on the readout confirm he’s still alive. Hux wonders if he’d have the fortitude to starve himself to death or not. He has other things in mind, though, and those require the Knight to still be alive.

Ren doesn’t resist the hook that clips onto his collar, but when he’s dragged, he makes himself a dead weight. Kylo holds onto the door as three troopers pull him out, and Hux watches the footage from his room. They hose him down again, which is good because he likely reeks from his captivity. The self-starvation has rendered him weaker, or maybe he feels less like fighting. When they’re done cleaning him, he’s pulled to his feet by the rod attached to his collar and marched towards Hux’s audience chamber.

The trooper wielding the stick tries to force Kylo to kneel, and the man doesn’t want to. He locks his knees, bracing himself, fighting it to the last. Eventually he drops with a _snap_ to the ground, and his head lowers so he doesn’t have to look Hux in the eye.

“Are you ready to start your training as _my_ Knight, Lord Ren?”  


“I’d sooner die.”  


“Very well. Another month it is.”  


That gets his head snapping up, and their eyes meet. Kylo’s blaze with maddened fury, and he tries to surge to his feet, only to be pushed down to lie on the floor.

“You will eat, or be fed by a tube. It is your choice. I will not allow you to die until I am ready for it.”  


“Go to _hell_.”  


“See you in a month.”  


***

He’s more argumentative this time. He eats, and shoves his tray back out. He yells abuse. Hux has everything recorded, of course, and he occasionally watches Kylo go slowly insane.

He has to hand it to him, he didn’t think he’d last this long before the madness started to kick in. It’s possibly testament to his stubborn will, and possibly also testament to whatever it was the Leader asked of his Right Hand before the coup meant Hux took custody of him. Kylo bangs his head into the wall, scratches himself, sings, recites the parts of a hyperdrive in order of assembly… at one point he’s sure he hears him try to make Wookie noises, but those are so incomprehensible that he could just be rattling off a death cry.

Ren has always been an attention-seeker, from what Hux has seen. It’s not even just positive attention, but _any_ interest from an external body. Not to mention the stimulus. For someone who kept his face covered almost all the time, who hid behind gloves and layers, he’s always been one for chasing adrenaline, or noise, or action. The lack of it, or of an external point to define himself against, must have been the worst kind of torture… Which is why he _uses_ it.

Here, now, he kneels. He’s swaying on his knees, and Hux knows his eyes are closed to the stringently bright lights.

“Are you ready to start your training, Ren?”  


Silence. Nothing. Body adrift like a ship with the engines cut.

“Ren. I asked you a question.”  


“N-no. Please… no.”   


The please is new. Hux doesn’t think he’s ever heard the overly tall man use it in his life, and it makes him lean forwards. “You are going to train. The choice is yours how much is left of your mind before I begin with you. If you wish to go savage and feral before I socialise you - well. You’re not far off, are you?”

Even bound, in sopping wet black clothes, the Knight lifts his head imperiously. He tries for proud, but there’s a twitch to the corner of his lips, a thinning of his eyes, a trigger-point catch just before he takes his final pose: moving, halting, continuing. Oh, he telegraphs so wonderfully. Hux has always suspected the little tells that came through his mask and cloak were symptoms of a deeper insecurity, a more obvious canvas, but seeing his face shift so dramatically?

This is almost too easy. The boy’s been broken improperly twice, already. All he needs to do is slide through the grooves, deepen them, make them ring true for one last time.

“Are you too cowardly to kill me?” Ren asks.  


Kill me, it says. Kill me. I’m tired. Hux isn’t going to kill him; at least, not yet.

“I have killed every last Jedi but you. Something you failed abysmally at,” Hux reminds him.  


“I’m no Jedi.”  


“You’re not anything that I don’t want you to be, Ren.”  


“Would you just stop talking in riddles and tell me what the fuck you want?”  


“It’s not for you to ask anything.” Hux sighs. He’s not ready, is he? Still too belligerent. Even if that is - in part - what holds the appeal. It’s nothing to break something that splinters on sight: there’s no sense of _accomplishment_. But with him… with someone even the late, ‘great’ Masters Skywalker and Snoke couldn’t really tame?  


Hux intends to show their Force-ghosts what real power is.

“Another month.” He waves his hand, going to tap at the buttons in his throne’s arm.  


“Damnit, _what do you want from me_?”  


“I told you: you’ll submit to me, and you’ll become _my_ Knight. On _my_ terms. If you do, I’ll treat you accordingly. But if you don’t, then how long do you think you can live just stretching half your body at a time, and sitting in a cell with your own waste cleared out twice a day?”  


“Isn’t it enough that you seem to have the galaxy? Why do you want to humiliate me?”  


“I want to show the galaxy just how _much_ I won, Ren. And I get what I want. It might take me years - decades - but I _get what I want_. So you’ll go back to your jailers, and you’ll be given a choice. I suggest you think deeply about which way you go.”  


Button. Guards. He tunes out the angry comments and pulls up the notes for his next meeting.

***

The next day, they bring Ren in as he’s taking breakfast. He made the ‘right’ decision the night before, but Hux still made him sleep on it. They stripped him buck naked, forcibly showered him, and Hux had _only just_ agreed to let them bring him up in a towel around his waist.

He’s lost weight. It makes sense, considering he was barely eating and he’d been cramped in that cell for the best part of two months. His face is a little sunken, his eyes pained and tired, his once-toned muscles turned wiry and lean. He doesn’t look particularly well with it, and Hux makes a note to work on that. After the briefest of glances, he resumes his breakfast, eating with one hand and scrolling through data with the other.

Kylo, wisely, does not interrupt. Good. Although he does breathe noisily, maybe on purpose. Hux resolves to monitor that for signs of non-compliance, and then finally puts down the plate. He can hear Kylo’s stomach grumble from where he’s kneeling, and the man won’t even look at him when he walks over.

“You won’t have your Force back, not unless I deem it useful to me.”  


“What’s the point in keeping me, then?”  


“As a symbol. You’re a powerful message.”  


“And you couldn’t just decapitate me and broadcast it?”  


“You are so very keen on dying, aren’t you?” Hux paces around him. Ren is still in the collar and cuffs, but he’s not hitched to anything. “Would it be so bad to live, and live well?”  


“You’re just another fucking person pulling my strings. Someone will kill you, or ask me to kill you, and it will all start all over again.”  


Hux brushes a damp strand of hair back behind the man’s ear, ignoring the flinch away from his hand. “They wanted you for your power. I don’t. I have power of my own, and I assure you: I intend to keep it.”

He walks away, back to his seat, and picks up the discarded holotablet, flicking through more information. He can feel the waves of frustrated curiosity, and he’s running internal odds on when he’ll…

“…so you just want me to… what? Kneel?”  


Hux shushes him, eyes not lifting.

“I don’t–”  


“If you speak once more, I will gag you, Ren.”  


The small growl of protest is not, technically, speaking. It is, however, insubordinate. Hux sighs, and gets up, walking to a small footlocker off to one side.

“I didn’t say anything!”  


“Your attitude alone warrants this, Ren.” He walks over, holding out a ball gag, getting ready to apply it.  


Which is when Kylo realises he’s not, actually, physically restrained. The taller man gets up, but Hux is prepared for it. He might not be called upon to use his talents often, but it doesn’t mean he’s let them go rusty.

Kylo’s weakened, but he’s still tall, trained, and desperate. The last part is the worrying one, and it’s what gives Hux the most cause for concern. A man with little left to lose is hard to fight, even if he _has_ been handicapped by cutting off his extra-sensory perception. A kick behind his knees, an arm around his neck, and Hux turns his own face away from the fingers trying to gouge out his eyes. Kylo’s clearly surprised by the sudden show of aggression, and he bites down on Hux’s arm.

Which. Okay. You have to accept a few scrapes when you try to choke-hold someone into submission. He swings his leg over the Knight’s back, letting him lift him a few inches off the ground as he continues to apply pressure across Ren’s throat. His other hand pulls at his hair, knowing he can’t reach most of the other places he’d aim for, not when he’s riding the wave that is Kylo choking in an attempt to shake him off.

He has to give it to him, when he staggers them towards the wall and backs them into it, it’s a little more stamina than he expected. It hurts - his shoulderblades taking the brunt of it - and he uses the wall as leverage to wrap his legs around the taller man’s waist, heels driving between his thighs close to the groin. He winces at the nails drawing bloody lines over the backs of his hands, at the clumps of hair pulled out, but this is a fight for _dominance_. And he is going to _win_. He’s taken the man’s Force, but he has to prove he’s _in control_.

It’s already a done deal, though: the boy has a craving for a firm, sure authority figure that’s almost as loud as his nasally droning voice. It’s why Snoke got to him, and Hux is just going to capitalise on the previous work. Once he lets Kylo know he’s the stronger of them, and the more determined, he’s sure he’ll fall into line. Hux grunts at another, weaker slam into the wall, then sinks his teeth into Kylo’s earlobe, wrenching hard.

It’s enough of a shock to make him go down to one knee, and the sleeperhold is clearly working. He knows enough about the sounds of breathing to identify a feint, and this isn’t one. Kylo genuflects fully, collapsing then onto his hands, fighting for air. Hux lets go of his ear, and takes the gag and pushes the ball into his mouth. Kylo tries to turn his head away, but he’s wheezing so hard that the hollow, breathable sphere slips in. Hux buckles it behind his head with one hand, then lets go of him and climbs up and off his gasping frame.

He goes back to his seat, and resumes his work. Kylo - beaten - slinks to the edge of the room. He leans into the wall, facing away from him. He doesn’t remove the gag, though, which tells Hux all he needs to know.

***

With some ‘encouragement’, Kylo learns to kneel in place. He’s gagged as soon as he comes into the room, always by Hux’s hand. Kylo won’t meet his eyes when he does it, but he learns to open his mouth or be pinched in the jaw to make him comply. 

One day the Knight turns his head, and Hux is ready to growl and then move it by force if need be, but Kylo looks up as if begging.

“What.”  


“I won’t talk, if you don’t put it in. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”  


Always trying to second guess his motivations, wasn’t he? Still, that was an interesting proposal. But he couldn’t let Kylo control this, pace this, or force his hand… so he nods. “I’ll consider it,” he says, and then pushes the gag forwards again.

Kylo looks understandably dejected, but he does open his mouth and allow himself to be gagged with sure hands. Hux pushes his hair back… it’s getting long. It’s naturally wavy, and the length pulls some of the curl out but not so much that it doesn’t cascade messily down his back. He tuts, and tells Kylo to fetch his toybox. It’s heavy, and other than the gag, they’ve not used anything from it, yet. 

The Knight complies, bringing the locker over. He moves where he’s instructed to, and Hux drags his fingers sharply through his hair, scratching his scalp in the process. He pulls out the worst of the tangles, then ties a short, leather thong around the thicket of hair at his nape. It then falls in a neat(ish) ponytail, rather than a mop. 

“You will learn to make yourself presentable, Knight. I can’t have a shambles for a pet, for a boy.”  


Kylo mumbles wordlessly, through the gag. It sounds like assent, and that will do. Hux lets go, and resumes his work. 

He catches Ren gazing at him, from time to time, and wonders how far off his break really is.

***

The next day, Kylo appears with his hair almost-neatly braided and tied off at the end. It’s better, but not good enough, and he says so. He notices how the Knight deflates at the criticism, and that puts him in a great mood. 

Hux decides to forgo the gag in reward for his good behaviour, and he lets his eyes slide over those bare, freckled shoulders. His only clothing remains the fresh towel he’s given every day after his morning ablutions, and Hux thinks it’s about time he dressed like he means it.

“Get the footlocker.”  


Kylo does, and then places it at his feet and waits beside it. 

“Open it. Those things in there are for if you behave, and don’t act like a brat.”  


His hands are hesitant, then, and Hux doesn’t need the Force to read the mental images running through the other’s skull. The footlocker contains a lot of tools of his particular flavour of trade: some designed for pain, some restraint, and some for pleasure bordering on discomfort. Kylo’s face goes sheet-white, and he sits back, eyes tightly jammed shut.

“What’s wrong, boy?”  


A wince at the diminutive, and Kylo shakes his head in a refusal.

“No _what_?”  


“I don’t… want these things.” Kylo looks up through his lashes, his expression pleading and lost. “Make me your soldier, your weapon… whatever. Parade me out on holos, just…”  


“What’s wrong, Ren, scared of a little _pain?_ Or scared you’ll _like it_?”  


Hux does not expect the sudden, horrified look on the younger man’s face, but then the credit drops.

“You don’t know, do you? You don’t know what you like.” Why didn’t he think of it before? He’s never seen the failed Jedi with anyone he wasn’t required to be around, never seen him socialise… “Do you even work?” He pushes his boot at Kylo’s groin, even as the man pulls his cuffed wrists to cup himself.  


“I’ll fight for you. Cuffed, uncuffed. Just…” Don’t. The last word is unspoken, but loud.

“You have no say in what I do - or do not - do.” So. He’s… pristine. Interesting. _Very interesting_. Also rather sad, but at least he’s in the hands of a professional, now.  


Not that Hux _charges_. But he **could**. If he ever wanted to.

Kylo sways, the pallor giving way to a faint, slime-green around the edges. He’s making himself as small as he can, even though he’s far too large to vanish. 

“Put the outfit on. You will wear it when you arrive here, and remove it when you leave. If you behave, you will be allowed your towel to return to your cell. If you disobey me, you will spend all your time out of this room naked. Do you understand?”  


A pause, too long, and Hux allows him to the count of five.

“…yes.”  


“Yes, what?”  


“Yes, I understand?” Kylo glares despondently up at him.  


That is _not_ subservient, and he back-hands him across the jaw. “You’re going back for a week.”

“What? No! What the fuck did you want me to say?” Kylo doesn’t move to get up, but he does look hurt and confused. “You aren’t making any sense. How can I do what you want if I don’t know _what it is_?”  


“It’s called _using your intelligence_. But, as you seem to have a short supply: that is **not** how you address the Emperor.”  


“Then how the fuck am I supposed to address him?”  


Hux glares at his use of profanity, glares until Kylo withers slightly. 

“You refer to me as either: Sir, my Lord, your Grace, or Emperor.”  


“Right.” A pause. “…Sir. Anything else?”  


Hux is not wholly convinced with Kylo’s show of half-submission, but he had signed on for a long project. Something to keep him diverted, now the war was all but won. “You will kneel there,” he points, “…whenever you are brought here. You will wait until I nod, and then you will change into that outfit. You will also fold it neatly when I decide it is time to send you back to your cell. You will obey any commands I issue, and you will ask for permission before you speak.”

“How do I–” he watches as Kylo realises he’s disobeyed the last one already.  


But he stopped. Which means he’s listening, at least, and trying. Hux decides to show a little mercy. “You are allowed to use my title to ask for permission to speak. You are also allowed to answer direct questions, or continue if it is a conversation like this one. Up until I say: enough.”

“I see.”  


He can tell Kylo is processing this, and he looks at the clothes. Looks… under the clothes. 

“May I… ask… for something?”

“You may ask. I may not grant it.”  


“The cell… I can’t stretch out. It’s painful.” Kylo swallows, setting his jaw. “I would appreciate a larger cell.”  


“Follow my instructions for a full week and I will consider your attitude. Now: dress..”  


He doesn’t say ‘Yes, Sir’, but he does pull out the clothes and awkwardly start to dress. Hux watches, wondering if the discomfort is because of the clothes wholly, or if the way he acts like his body doesn’t belong to him is part of _him_. The man had lived for a long time undercover, literally, so it’s entirely possible he’s uncomfortable in his own skin. _Interesting_. Ren also is still on the underfed side of healthy, though he’d been so toned before that he could afford a few lean months, and Hux has already started increasing his rations subtly to allow him to get back to his old condition. 

The boy does have a nice body, even if he doesn’t seem to know it. Hux admires the sheer tunic that he slips on: goldenweave mesh that looks too starkly warm against his skin. Silver would look better, silver and chromes. Maybe he’ll treat him to that if he pleases him enough. The shirt barely covers him over, too sheer to really conceal. The sleeves cut below the elbow, half way to the wrist, and the neckline plunges enough to allow the collar to sit proudly above it.  The next bit, though… that’s going to be the killer.

Hux doesn’t want him covered up too much, so the lower half is a similarly translucent skirt. It’s long enough to touch his ankles when he dons it, and it fastens in a wrap-around, meaning there’s a slit to be placed _somewhere_. A braided cord around the hips, the tassels long and ponderous. There’s nothing to cover his modesty, and he sees Kylo glance inside the locker for a missing piece of underwear.

“Put it on, Ren.”  


“Hux…” A flash of fear. “…Sir, I…”  


“What’s the problem?”  


He knows, but he wants him to say it. 

“Please… I’m… not comfortable…”  


Hux stares. “Why not?”

“I…” His eyes flicker down, to the side, looking for salvation in the unforgiving floor.   


“Do you really value your life so little? Or your dignity so much?” He moves to where the man stands, in a towel barely covering his groin as it is. “It is just your body. It belongs to me, now. _All_ of you belongs to me. And you can choose to accept it, and be happy, or you can fight me until your last breath and wallow in your misery.”  


“Do you enjoy this?” Angry eyes, worried, hurt. “Do you get off on humiliating me?”  


“Yes.” He grabs the towel, pulls it clean off with some vigour. A whip back, and he slaps him with it (not too focused, the loose cotton flapping uselessly before being dropped to the ground).   


Kylo drops the skirt, his hands going to cup his manhood. He yelps in horror, stepping back from him. 

“It is just your body, Ren. I own everything else. I own what goes into you: I set your meals, I have them forced down your gullet if you refuse them. I own your sleep-cycle: I can drug you into unconsciousness, or force you to remain awake until your mind screams in protest. I own your power: you have no Force, not unless I ever allow it again. I own your _life_ and I own your _death_. That is what you have to look forward to… _me_.”  


As he says this, he simply stands. He doesn’t need to touch him, not when his words are heavier than any lash could be. He keeps his voice even, but cruel. _Firm_. Sure. His eyes light inside with pleasure, doubling and redoubling at the way Kylo sways under his pronouncement.

“ _Please_.”  


“I can make your life the most unbearable hell you have ever seen, or I can show you _mercy_. But it is _my_ choice, and yours is simply this: _obey or suffer_.”  


“Hux - my Lord - _please!_ Please don’t do this. I don’t–”  


“Put. It. On.”  


He stands toe to toe with him, unwilling to bend in this. You can’t show weakness around one like Kylo Ren. He’d turned from his first Master when another came along, and he knows this reticence isn’t out of misguided loyalty to his second one. Kylo had never believed in _either_ , but he would damn well believe in **Hux**. He was _better_ because he didn’t **need** the Force to rule.

Hux is strong enough. _Stronger_. He knows this, and he knows he will win.

Kylo’s eyes prick wet around the edges. Maker, was the boy so broken already? A simple act of nudity enough to make him cry? The power he had over him was so damn _intoxicating_. That was _his_ weakness: that he enjoyed this so much. That he revelled in shows of his own mastery, that he could take such pleasure in the shame and humbling of others. But if it wasn’t Kylo he made bend the knee, it could as soon be another. It was just the… perfect symmetry of this that made it so appealing. The taller a man stood, the more meaningful his bend to bow and scrape became.

It’s not even about sex, not really. Even his naked body wouldn’t be about sex, but _control_. About **power**. 

No matter what his internal narrative is at that moment - and Hux could bet it would be ‘I will find a way to kill you’ - the man drops to a crouch. He scoops up the silky fabric and moves to tie it around himself. He opts to put the overlap on his hip - where once his saber had sat - and ties the strands neatly. One hangs lower than the other, but Hux likes that. Likes the moment of tension in the otherwise perfect picture.

What he’s _most_ pleased to see, however, is that when Kylo is done putting on the flimsy fabric… the man stands tall, hands clasped lightly by his sides. His jaw set, his head proud, his eyes front and centre.

 _And he’s aroused_.

Oh, how perfect. Hux could easily have never taken it down that route, happily so. He can enjoy inflicting pain and humiliation without needing the sexual element (and really, nudity is only sexual if you want it to be), but the Knight’s body betrays him openly.

“Is that why you were objecting? You didn’t want me to know how much you enjoyed this?”  


“I am not enjoying this.” Beat. “Sir.”  


“Your body says otherwise, Ren.” He taps a finger to his lips, then goes to his chair.  


He leaves the boy standing, angry and horny, ignoring him for the rest of his working day. Kylo’s cock hasn’t filled all the way, just the first stirrings of his arousal tenting the fabric. Hux knows it’s important not to rush these things, though.

***

Kylo dresses a little faster each day, drops to kneel where he’s been told, and Hux appreciates it. The boy still seethes resentment, but his actions are faultless. Eventually, the week ends, and he knows Kylo is waiting for his pronouncement on his sleeping arrangements.

He sends him back to the cell.

For three more days.

Kylo doesn’t question it, and Hux loves that, too. He’s learning, and soon it will come naturally to him.

On the fourth day, when he’s done with his work, he stands. He sees Kylo looking up for guidance, and instead he walks out and into the adjoining room of his grand suite, leaving the Knight on his knees. He takes a brief shower. He has food brought in, and he eats at his dining table. Kylo remains in the room he was left in, and doesn’t come looking, or ask for guidance.

He has to wonder how far his obedience will go, so Hux gets ready for bed. He has enough security built in to sleep in his bed with the Knight unchained, but he also doesn’t think Kylo’s quite got it in him to murder him in his sleep. Consider it, yes. Do it? No. What would he do then? The Resistance and Republic are crushed, and he’s not got the military acumen to rule in his stead. Although he _is_ impulsive, he’s not entirely stupid. 

Hux sleeps briefly, deeply, and refreshingly. He climbs out of bed and brushes his teeth and splashes his face. Still in his pyjamas, he pads softly into the office he’s been sharing with the Knight.

Kylo is kneeling, still, in the same position he left him in. He’s slumped a little, though, and his eyes are almost shut. Not quite asleep, but not quite awake, either. Something on the borderline, which is _just like him_.

“You may use the shower,” he calls out, startling the man awake. “And then you may lie down on the bed for no more than an hour. You will be clean and dry, and you will not get under the covers.”  


Kylo blinks up at him, blearily, then hope chased by doubt mutates his expression. “Thank you, Sir.”

He gets up awkwardly, and goes to look for the shower. Hux doesn’t intrude. He doesn’t need to.

***

Their routine develops slowly. Hux allows Ren to use the bed when he isn’t, for a few hours each night. Ren seems to appreciate it immensely, which he should. He’s still weakened, so Hux assigns him a training routine. There’s enough stable furniture for him to stretch and push himself with, and Hux has a staff brought in for him.

Kylo takes to this with caution at first, but when there’s no punishment attached, he starts to train in earnest. He expects the chance to settle into familiar activities plus work on endorphin-releasing activities are both welcome distractions. It puts him in much better moods, and he even seems to be happy when he’s made to be still and calm after. Sometimes Hux lets him shower straight off, sometimes he makes him wait so he can appreciate the gleam of exertion on his barely-covered skin.

When he has to leave to do things, he orders Ren to kneel and wait. He doesn’t check the footage, knowing deep down that Kylo won’t disobey. He’s falling into step, into pace.

During one training routine, Kylo’s foot slips and he has to catch his fall with the staff, planting it on the skiddy surface and turning the trip into something more graceful. Hux notices, and looks disappointed. 

It’s just a look, and he sees the Knight’s face fall in shame and embarrassment. And that - oh _that_ \- is sweeter than any honorific traipsing from his tongue. Kylo straightens up, his blush even making his upper chest pink. _He doesn’t want to disappoint_. Oh, wonderful.

“Again,” Hux says. “Do it right.”  


Kylo nods, hands tightening on the wooden staff. He takes a breath, and starts running through pre-ordained movements: the staff arcs around his body, flowing between his hands. His legs push off from the ground, feints and blocks and blows against an opponent who has never been there. He’s getting better: his frame no longer so sharp and edgy, more smooth planes instead of ragged valleys and steep-sided ravines. He’s graceful, Hux has to give him that: when he throws himself into his work, he becomes this fluid, sinuous creature of **frame**. He _fills_ his body, no longer acting ashamed of his muscles and skin. The soft, diaphanous fabric flows around him, and his genitals flow, too, with his body’s rolls and tilts. He can see the first stirring of interest, there: the way his cock pulls gently away from his thighs, pushes shyly against the fabric. It must be somewhat uncomfortable doing katas without his dangling parts supported. Hux wonders if he should allow him to wear a simple restraining thong for these times. It would mean he didn’t get to watch things sway and brush for his pleasure, but it could mean more energetic routines.

“Still not quite right,” Hux says. “You weren’t using your full extension.” He was pretty good, but he wouldn’t let that show in his voice.  


A moment of anger, pricked pride, and Hux fights the spread of his smile when he sees that. Oh, there’s still fire there.

Kylo repeats things, this time faster. He pushes himself hard: his tightly bound whiptail hair flicking his cheeks as he turns his head fast, his bare feet fighting to hold the floor between stances and postures. His breathing quickens slightly, his eyes unseeing as he becomes _his body entire_. He doesn’t have the Force, but he has a soldier’s way of memorising the edges of a space. He flows hard and fast, and then plants the staff a foot from Hux, pulling his body in close to swing around it, then dropping to kneel before him, both hands holding onto the wood, head bowed.

“Again.”  


“My Lord…”  


“ _Again_.”  


“I can’t do it any better than that, I’m sorry.”  


“You will do it again as many times as I demand.”  


Eyes look up, asking _why_ , then… perhaps he finds his answer. His hands stay around the wood, sliding up as he rises. “As you command.”

“If you are to be useful to me, I want you at your peak. You’ve been fettered too long… and I don’t mean by the iron around you.”  


“And how can I ever be _un_ fettered if I obey your every whim?”  


“You were not made to _lead_ , Ren. Haven’t you realised that, yet? You’ve never been satisfied in your life, have you?”  


“Who has?”  


Hux leans forwards, not letting up. “ _I_ was made to rule. _You_ were made to follow. I can be the one you follow, and you will never be happier than how you can feel… if you see your place is at my feet.”

“I could bash your brains out with this staff.”  


“You could _try_ ,” he concedes. “I do have a blaster. But you haven’t tried. All these days, and you haven’t. Have you considered: why?”  


His fingers flex, the truth painful to hear. “Maybe I should do first, think second.”

“You haven’t killed me because you have no idea what you’d do with your life, after. You _want_ order. You just haven’t been given the right order.”  


“Fuck order! I left the Jedi, I–”  


Hux puts a hand on the staff, pulling himself upright with it. He stands in close, just that one hand on the stick. 

“I’m not _like that_ ,” Kylo insists.  


“You thrive on structure, you just also need to know it’s sound enough. It’s why you test boundaries so often: you need to know they won’t _give_.”  


“I’m _no Jedi_.”  


“I never said you were. Right now, you’re not even a failed one… you’re _nothing_.”  


“I am Kylo Ren.”  


“Master of an Order I destroyed, so Master of nothing. Even your name isn’t your first name. How can you stand here and claim to be _anything?”_  


 _“I’m not that, either_.”  


“I never said you were. I said you’re _nothing_.”  


“I am **not**.”  


“Oh? If I kicked you to the nearest habitable planet, dressed like that, with those cuffs on… how long would you last? Would you survive? Would you find food, shelter? No one who knew you is still alive. You’re _nothing_ and **no one**.”  


Dark eyes shut, then open. “No.” It’s soft.

“Yes. But here… here you can be something. You can be my Right Hand, and my favoured pet. You can find meaning in _me_.”  


Kylo tries to hit him with the staff, but Hux catches the momentum. The boy pushes hard, and Hux has to fight not to be overwhelmed. Ren’s training is certainly bringing back muscle-tone, and he can’t withstand the growling force forever… so he lets go. Lets go, and Kylo falls forwards at the lack of obstruction. Hux moves to stand behind him, shoving harder, unsteadying him further. 

The man’s heart isn’t in it, and Hux easily pushes him down, face-first into the throne. The staff clatters to the ground as Ren holds onto the arms of the chair, shaking.

Hux pulls his blaster from his thigh-holster. He holds the muzzle into the nape of the other man’s neck, pressing hard. “Do you really want to die, Ren? Do you? Or do you want to admit who you _truly_ are, deep down?”

“I’m– I’m not–”  


The blaster slips over the collar, and he drags it lower over his arched spine. Down and down and down, over his ass, slipping between his parted thighs. The skirt bunches up, cushioning the cold metal from direct contact “You _want_ this. You want **me**. You want to be _**owned**_.” 

“ _Sir_ …”  


Oh so delicious. Oh so very delicious. He strokes the blaster harder, bumping it against his balls from behind. He’s getting answeringly interested in his own groin, his cock stirring warmly to the way Kylo reacts.

Nothing is holding him down, nothing but the threat of the weapon. He’s pushed his forehead into the back of the throne, his hands clutching the armrests. He arches just _slightly,_ and Hux sees the shudder as one stroke hits him deep. He’s enjoying this so much, and he’s slowly giving in to it. Giving in to the threat of death and the promise of security, safety, bliss.

“Please…”  


“Please: what? Please sodomise me with the blaster?”  


“No, I–” Kylo’s back still arches, as if he’d welcome the heavy weight inside. A tiny rock against the weapon, a whimper in his voice.  


“ _Do you like it when I hurt you?”_

Hux knows the answer, but it doesn’t stop him asking. Kylo doesn’t answer audibly, but the stance goes legs further apart, more open, his spine made fluid and speaking a language deeper and older than Basic. The oldest language of all.

He twists the barrel between his legs, then resheathes it in the holster. Kylo doesn’t move, but he does telegraph distress when Hux walks away.

Let him.

“…Sir?” Kylo turns his face, his expression so damn open that Hux could lick it right off his features and then transfer it to a page with his tongue.   


Hux hefts the paddle. It’s stiff, never been broken in. Heavy leather tongues either side of a stiff, plasteel core. He likes this one because the impact staggers, because the inside is so inflexible that it gives a very, very nice smack. Hux uses it to lift the skirt up and over, baring Ren’s ass to him.

“This is for making me wait,” he says, and slams it down hard.  


It isn’t full force. He could start like that, but it’s less fun. It’s still harder than a love swat, and hard enough to make Kylo yelp and then hiss in shock. The tall man rises onto the balls of his feet, trying to squirm away from the pain, and he rewards that with a flurry of smacks: left, right, left-left-left, right, left, right-right-left-right. The lack of order is a minute sense of discomfort to him, but of much greater discomfort to the man on the receiving end. He crawls almost into the seat, pressing his jaw and shoulder against the back, one knee up on the cushion, getting as far from the blows as he can.

Which isn’t good enough.

“ _Back where I put you_.”  


Kylo whimpers, then slinks backwards. He braces his feet on the floor, knees against the throne, and his knuckles are whiter than the most polished of his troopers’ helmets. Hux starts to vary the intensity, softer blows between harsh ones that rock the Knight’s body.

He’s liking this. The other man. He’s liking it, even as he makes tiny noises of pain as he tries to brave it out. The squirming gives way to swaying, to riding out the agony and coasting on the sensation. He glides from _no_ to **yes** , and he pushes back, eager and waiting. Hux smiles, turning his butt cheeks and upper thighs into a glowing, hot-red canvas. He knew Ren would be a masochist, he’s just got that _air_ to him, the one that says: treat me **mean _._**

And oh, can he ever.

He keeps up the spanking until his shoulder tires, and then he transfers the paddle to his off-hand. He runs his leather-clad palm over the skin, feeling heat seeping through the material. Ren _really_ has a masochistic streak, deeper than anyone he’s known, and Hux thinks it could be very much fun. After all, his own tastes run along similar lines, and Ren has the capacity to _take_ more punishment than most. He’s pretty much trained for it since youth, in the same way that Hux’s life has honed his blade-hand, taught his fingers not to waver on the rod they wield. He slips a digit between his cheeks, teasing at his hole, enjoying the way the boy tenses as if it’s off limits.

Nothing is off limits. Not to Hux.

He holds the paddle, sliding the flat, leather handle between his cheeks. Dragging over sensitive skin, pushing until he meets his balls. He reaches forward, cups them, and then lets go.

“Shower.”  


“S…sir?”  


“Shower.”   


Kylo doesn’t move immediately, but then he does. He walks, stiff-legged, and goes towards the ‘fresher. The skirt falls back down to his ankles, and Hux doesn’t need to look to know he’s ragingly hard underneath it. The hot water _won’t_ help, which is why…

When he gets inside, Hux grabs the showerhead. Kylo’s naked in the tub, bound only in metal, and he shields his groin with his hands. That doesn’t matter, because water under high pressure - and **cold** \- has a way of going where it wants to. He hoses Kylo down, spraying his face and hair as much as his body, before he clicks the unit off and walks out to go do some more paperwork.

Kylo clearly has no idea what to do. Showers are usually before he’s allowed to sleep, but this one is at an unusual time. He hears him whimper his now-unaroused body into a towel, hears him stand outside the ‘fresher door. He’s always made to sleep naked, on top of the covers. The confusion is delicious, and eventually results in Kylo coming back to the ‘office’. He sinks - still naked, but towel-dried - to his knees at the respectful distance. 

Good. Hux snaps his fingers, points for Kylo to kneel next to his leg. The boy does, and follows the hand that pulls him - by the long and lightly dampened hair - to lean against him. His face presses to Hux’s knee, and the Emperor indulges him by teasing over his scalp for a moment. 

He works for some hours after that.

***

The Emperor tries out almost all of the toys on Ren, just to see how he reacts. A different one - or two - each day, just to see how he’ll take it. It’s interesting, because he doesn’t seem to favour impact over sharp edges, enjoying both equally. Red crop marks stripe his thighs, purpling bruises scatter across his back. Some from fingernails pushing deep in, some from a cane or a flogger or a paddle that landed just right. A precious few the result of lips on skin. The thin score-lines that didn’t _quite_ puncture the surface, that turn his whole reverse into an artistic celebration of the masochist’s moans and the sadist’s skills.

He _does_ make good sounds. Really good sounds. He also gets hard just from the pain, which is glorious. Or maybe it’s not entirely the pain, but also the _attention_. Kylo wilts when he’s ignored, which means Hux has the perfect punishment for any transgressions. 

They get fewer, and further between. He’s not perfect - who is? (Hux knows he, himself, comes close… but even then he acknowledges there are a few places he could _excel more in._ ) But he is getting better, fitting the mould Hux has laid out for him.

He allows Ren to sleep on the floor beside the bed when he himself sleeps. He doesn’t give him a pillow, but it’s one up on having to take the longest part of his sleep in a kneeling position. The training has reinvigorated the man’s health, and he _glows_ , now. Glows cold, like a white star, but glows all the same. His hair is longer by the day, and Hux simply trims the ends every now and again. He likes it long. Kylo has learned how to braid it himself, and it works as a leash and a place to hold onto. He sometimes drags him about by the braid, letting his legs stumble below him as the boy tries to keep up.

Ren has not once complained about the lack of anything sexual to their sessions, greedily taking the cold showers to dampen down his arousal after the event. Hux wants to wait, wants him to _want_ it so much he’s blind, but he knows the minute he defiles the boy, they’ll both go mad with lust, and the firmer his control of him is by that point, the better. Still… he’s pretty. Oh, he’s pretty in an overly-masculine way: long lashes, full lips, broad shoulders, strong arms. He’s pretty, and Hux has noticed.

Maybe it is time, after all.

The Emperor finishes flogging the fight out of him, turning the boy into a melting puddle of moaning manflesh, then drapes the tongues of the toy over his shoulder, the weighted handle balancing it in place like lanyards dedicated only to lust. Kylo twitches on the bed, his soft little sounds of distant pleasure music to Hux’s ears.

“Turn over.”  


This isn’t part of their routine, and he’s already worked the boy over good and properly by now. Enough that he might well be ready to leave for the day. Kylo pauses, then rolls onto his back. He winces at that, still obviously sore from some of the blows. One arm drapes across his waist, the other scratching nails over the bedlinen. Hux picks up the flogger, uses the pommel of the handle to push the arms far enough to spreadeagle as he can get. 

“Sir?”  


“Shhh. Relax, Ren.”  


Kylo does - a little - and he watches Hux’s eyes intently, as if he could work out what’s coming. It must be so hard for him, going from able to understand motive and inner worlds to being trapped in only his own. Hux knows the boy’s head is one fucked up mess. Maybe he should have sent him to the Order - no, the _Empire’s_ \- reconditioning unit, but that would have been less fun. Why not do it himself? He uses the flogger handle to draw idle patterns over Ren’s chest: the Empire’s new sigil, over and over above his heart. Pink nipples perk hopefully, his ribcage expanding slowly and brokenly.

“Sir…” This time it’s a sigh, soft and full of wanting.   


“Did you touch yourself, before?”  


Kylo shakes his head. His eyes lower, and he blushes damask-deep. 

“Not at all?”  


“…some… times.”  


“Did you wake up hard, and wanting?”  


A terrified nod, eyes closed and his body starting to shake. His hands stay where they were put, and Hux admires that. He trails the flogger over his chest, just to touch and not to hurt.

“I didn’t hear you.”  


“Yes, Sir.”  


Better. He lowers his head, laps a tongue over a waiting nipple. Kylo moans, melting deeper into the bed.

“Why were you ashamed of your body?”  


“…m…my…” Kylo can’t answer, and panic starts to flood through him. Panic deeper than Hux wanted, so he puts a soft hand across his throat.  


“It is safe here, to tell me.”  


“…not… supposed to… Jedi… don’t and then– and… then…”  


He licks his thumb, starts drawing soft, wet circles across the worried nipple, ignoring the other. “And then?”

“M-my… it would… mornings after… after dreams, and I– _sh-shouldn’t_ –”  


“You’re no Jedi, not now. You’re my slave, my pet, my boy…” Hux pinches his nipple, pulls it tightly from his body, twisting left and right.  


“N-n-now I’m… yours and I… do as you s-say and you… h-haven’t…”  


“You’re right, I haven’t.” Even better. The boy is more broken than Hux could ever have dreamed possible. He really is open to suggestion, isn’t he? He bends to wrap his lips around the other nipple, lapping wetly before he seals his mouth around and suckles it into the darkness.  


“Oh… _oh_ … Oh, Master, Master… _please_ …”  


He hadn’t asked for permission, but he could also be thinking it’s part of a conversation, so Hux allows it. After all, such broken, longing tones are delicious to him. He sinks his teeth in, hard, and sucks so fiercely his cheeks hollow. The boy pummels his fists into the bed, fighting to remain down, obviously aroused beyond measure.

Hux wonders how many times he’s come in his life? Not many. Well. He’s been a good boy, so he deserves at least one nice orgasm in his life. 

He leaves off the hand on his chest, moving down over his flank to wrap around his swollen prick. It’s already leaking, and he thumbs over the slick fluid, fingers massaging the length of him. He has a _nice_ cock. Long, thick without being too big for use and enjoyment. Dark curls, and a bright, red shaft that twitches with repressed need. 

“Do you think you deserve to come in my hand?”  


Kylo _whines_. He does. A sound that comes from all the way inside, eyes that flutter open with terror. Their gazes meet, and he knows… knows the answer before it will ever reach his lips.

“ _No, Sir_.”  


“You’re right.” He strokes him harder, his palm bouncing against his balls. “You don’t.”  


Kylo looks horror-stricken, his face not sure what he feels. He whimpers, and then he tries to pull away from the hand, heels kicking at the bed. “Stop! Please, Master, please.. stop!”

“I decide, Ren.”  


“I can’t! I can’t! Please, don’t make me?”  


“Don’t make you _what_ , boy?”  


“…I… I can’t, I don’t… I don’t deserve it, Master… I’m sorry, I’m sorry…”  


“You **don’t** deserve it.” Hux doesn’t stop, stroking him fiercely hard and twisting his hand on the down-stroke. He’s surprised Ren lasts this long, pleased with his control over him, taking it as a compliment to his rule rather than an insult to his technique.  


“ _PleasepleaseOHOHFUCKNO–”_  


Kylo screeches when his climax hits, his horror ringing clear in his tone as his body betrays him. The orgasm makes his hands beat the bed, his heels, too, as he ruts helplessly into Hux’s hand. His eyes overflow with tears, his frustration and disappointment at his disobedience plain to see. 

Oh, just… he could bottle those tears and drink them every day until he dies. Hux beams, and stops stroking him when the shudders turn painful. He swipes his messy hand over Kylo’s bare chest, transferring the mess.

“You sleep at the foot of the bed, below my feet, but don’t make a mess of my sheets,” he says, and goes to wash his hand.  


He is kind enough to allow Kylo a moment to get his breath before the boy moves to do as he’s told. He’s sure he’s fucked him over so thoroughly that he won’t know up from down.

Hux wants to touch himself. He does. But if he waits for the morning… oh, it will be so worth it. He ignores his own erection and continues his evening routine.

***

Hux is fairly sure that Ren doesn’t sleep at all that night. He lies mostly in a foetal ball at the foot of the bed (and only Hux’s enormous bed means he can fit there, because Hux himself is not a short man). He watches the shattered movements of Ren’s torso until sleep claims him, and when he wakes he sees Kylo startle to alertness. 

“Do you think it was fair?”  


“Sir?”  


“Climaxing and then rolling over to sleep? Do you think that’s any way for a boy to behave?”  


Regardless of the fact he’d ordered as much. Kylo rolls over to face him, his naked stomach and chest smeared with dried flecks proving his guilt. “I’m sorry, Sir.” His eyes are downcast, some of his hair worked free from the ponytail to whisp strands about his face. 

“You should pay me your respects.” He’s sitting propped up, now, leaning back against the headboard. The sheets pool around his waist, his upper body bare and only simple, loose pyjama bottoms covering his modesty below the sheets.  


Hux watches as the naked Knight looks for some guidance, obviously at a loss. This is out of his frame of reference, though he wants only to _obey_. He’s won. He’s won, because there’s nothing else left to take from him. 

“Please, Sir, how? How may this one serve you?”  


Hux reaches for the leash in the bedside cabinet, holds the clip out. Kylo crawls closer, kneeling to one side and offering his throat and collar for the taking. A snap of carabiner and he winds the leather band around his fist, pulling him inexorably closer. Close enough to kiss, though all he does is breathe over his lips. “Get the lubricant. I’ll tell you how to satisfy me.”

Kylo nods, though the give he’s allowed by the leash means he has to choke himself and stretch his fingers to fumble for the little bottle left on the bedside cabinet’s top, ready and saying lots. He offers the bottle, dropping to a kneel by Hux’s side, his cock stirring in open interest. There’s no reticence about the act, just a lack of conviction or understanding about his own role.

Hux smiles. He smiles widely, and is pleased by the very, very subtle answering gesture on Ren’s own face. The boy _wants_ him happy, and he’s doing so very, very well. 

This was _never_ about **sex**.

“Stroke that over my cock. Get me good and hard and slick, boy.”  


“Yes, Master.”  


That hadn’t been on the list of titles, but he finds he likes it on Kylo’s tongue. It speaks of deep reverence in his tone, and he knows he’s called _two_ men that before, and both of **them** had the Force. But he’d never referred to the Leader in that tone, and he’s never heard anything but hatred and disappointment about the other man.

Kylo’s fingers are warm and tremble slightly - half fear, half anticipation - as he pulls the waistband down and tugs his cock over the top. He uses a bit too much lube, and he gets it over Hux’s clothes in the process, but he finds this endearing instead of annoying. He can train him for that, too.

Slow, slow rubs of both hands up over his length. It’s deliciously decadent, with the lube splurging around his grip. His hands are so big that it’s like being swallowed whole, and he moans in low approval and thrusts into his grasp. 

Kylo learns fast, following his reactions until Hux has to yank the leash to get him to stop. The Knight meets his eyes in confusion, his lips parting around an unvoiced question.

“Climb on my lap, boy. Climb on and make it a good ride for me.”  


He doesn’t hesitate then, throwing his leg over and walking backwards. He clearly has no clue how this part works - other than the obvious - and he tries to wriggle his butt onto him a few times, huffing softly when he can’t seem to get the picture.

“Use your hands, first. Hold me still.” A tug to the leash, to keep him thinking.  


Kylo nods, then grabs his prick a little too hard. He squirms about above it, the lube helping, but not with the fact that he’s not been opened up. Hux reaches behind Kylo to pull his cheeks apart, to push him slowly down. It’s going to sting as well as feel good, no matter how slow they take it. Hux wants that. He wants him to feel pleasure in with the **pain**. Down he urges him, and down the boy goes, his body fighting and fighting until something _snaps_ and he ends up sitting on his lap, flush. Skin to skin, sheathed and locked together.

Oh, that’s nice. Nestled deep inside a willing - if untrained - body. He purrs in satisfaction, enjoying the tenses and flickers around his cock. Kylo is doing his damndest to stay open, and he appreciates the shaking thighs bracketing his hips.

“Move.”  


The boy moves. He moves, haltingly and awkwardly, his gestures getting smoother by the moment. His hands flail until Hux grabs them and tangles their fingers together, placing the heels of their palms against Kylo’s waist. Gentle urgings for him to rock and sway, to roll his hips and grind down better.

He sees the way his eyes flutter closed, then look up with open, frank adoration. Hux smiles at the boy’s willingness, and rolls him onto his back to finish the fuck properly. He chases his pleasure with rough, sure thrusts, angling to graze against that spot inside that will make any man promise you the moon. He’s been so very good, and Hux thinks he deserves it. Thinks they both deserve it, and takes him with all he has.

By the time he’s done, their bodies screaming pleasure to the rafters, he owns even Kylo Ren’s heart. He sees it in the softness in the crinkles of his eyes, the way he does everything he can to make this satisfy his Master. Feels it in the blossoming openness to his body as he’d plunders those depths for the first time. Hears it in the hushed promises and beggings for more. Knows it before the boy comes again for him, splashing them both this time, a deal sealed and kept by both sides: to own, to be owned. 

In time, he won’t even need the cuffs to keep him in chains, in check, but he might still use them anyway. After all, it’s fun, and it gives him something to hold on to.

Kylo Ren is _his_. He stares down at his boy, enjoying this moment for as long as he wants. 

His.

He’s **won** _._ And he didn’t need to use the Force to do it, either.


End file.
